One sick scientist
by SGA Arlessiar
Summary: Rodney is not happy when he learns that an Ancient children's disease earns him a stay in the infirmary


Title: One sick scientist  
Author: Arlessiar  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Rodney is not happy when he's told that a children's disease earns him a stay in the infirmary.  
Category: Humour, h/c, friendship, fluff  
Disclaimer: The characters belong to MGM. No profit is made with this story.  
A/N: This is a fluffy f-ship story I wrote for the sga flashfic sickness challenge. It's not my first fanfic and not the first I publish, but it's the first SGA fic and first English fanfic I actually post. The story has been spellchecked and proofread.

One sick scientist

"Athosian _what_?"

Rodney gaped at Carson, who popped the cap of the ear thermometer into a hazmat box and then put the instrument on a trolley beside the bed.

"Did you just say chicken pox? Like in... 'small children'?" John asked, a smirk playing around his lips.

"Aye, I did, 'Athosian chicken pox', at least that's what we called it. A few children on the mainland have come down with it, it's a well-known children's disease among the Athosians. We called it chicken pox because the strain of the virus is very similar to Earth's varicella zoster virus, maybe our form of the virus in our galaxy even developed from it. It's possible that it was an Ancient childhood sickness originally. Quite interesting!" Carson looked very intrigued, but he only earned a glare from Rodney and a lifted eyebrow from John. He ignored it though and continued: "The symptoms are also very similar: Fever, general weakness, stomach pains, headaches, aching joints… some symptoms are more prominent than others. And just like with our virus, once you've been infected it lies dormant in the body and can cause other diseases like herpes or shingles later in life."

Rodney's face grew longer with every word that left Carson's mouth. His blue eyes couldn't possibly get any bigger as he stared wordlessly at the doctor.

Carson obviously didn't let that stop him, he was excited and in full lecturer mode: "Oh, and there's also the itching rash with blisters, which interestingly enough spread over the whole body, not only certain parts of it. In bad cases even the mucosa of the mouth and throat can be affected."

"Yeah, right, let's not forget the rash!" Rodney chimed in sarcastically. He lifted his hands and turned them several times, looking at the red spots. "And what do you mean, they'll spread even more? Isn't it enough that my face and arms are already covered with these degrading, nasty pustules? Carson, don't just stand there talking, give me something against it!" He scratched his left hand.

"There is nothing against it, Rodney. It's a virus, it will have to run its course. We can only treat the symptoms and try to prevent secondary infections. Not scratching would help with the latter, by the way," Carson said and pointed at Rodney's hand, before he casually put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

"Wonderful. So I have the questionable honour to suffer from a possible Ancient childhood disease, transmitted by these little Athosian rugrats that were running around while I was on the mainland two weeks ago, just because Elizabeth had forced me to repair some archaic piece of technology that even Zelenka could have repaired in his sleep!"

"Dr. Weir just wanted you to get some fresh air after you had been in the lab for three days straight, Rodney. She thought it'd do you good," John stated.

"Oh yes, thank you so much for mentioning this! Hello, have you gone blind? Spots all over here!" Rodney waggled his hands in front of John's face. "You do see what I got apart from all the many lungfuls of oh so precious fresh air that smelled of stockfish and bonfires, right? Yes, I really should send Elizabeth a nice Hallmark card!"

"That wasn't my point!" John exclaimed loudly.

"But the start of my problems!" snapped Rodney. "And I like being in my lab, from now on I'll even stay there happily for seven days straight or more, because that means I don't risk meeting annoying little brats with dirty hands, who literally throw their germs at you together with that silly football you just couldn't help giving them!"

"It's just my opinion that no child should have to do without a football, no matter in which galaxy."

"Typical. There are other sports on Earth, too, you know? Hockey for example."

John just rolled his eyes.

Rodney went back to examining his new body art. He intently looked at a pustule on his arm before he poked the small vesicle with one finger. Then he scratched around it.

"Rodney...," Carson said in a very low voice. It was definitely a warning.

Rodney ignored it completely and muttered: "Peachy, just peachy. Chicken pox. I'm a grown-up! Why me? This isn't fair."

"Relax, Rodney, it will only last about two weeks," Carson said. If he wanted to comfort his patient then it didn't exactly work.

"What? Two weeks? Are you out of your mind? I have work to do, you know? Important work that cannot wait!" ranted Rodney.

"Well, it'll have to!" Carson countered firmly.

"Two weeks – I'll die of boredom!"

"I'm quite happy that you get some much needed rest this way, Rodney."

"Two weeks away from the lab - Zelenka will jump for joy!" Sheppard said with a boyish grin.

"Who has asked you? Don't you have anywhere else to be? Someone else you can annoy?"

"Did I mention that crankiness is one of the symptoms too?" Carson chuckled.

"Good thing it's just one among others, 'cause alone from that we'd never know if he's sick!" said John, looking at Rodney with a challenging grin.

"Exactly, no way it would be possible to make a reliable diagnosis with just this one symptom!" Carson added with a small laugh.

That was enough for Rodney. "You two done?" he snapped loudly and leaned forward towards Carson, pointing his finger at him. "You enjoy this, right? You enjoy seeing me like this, spotted and spackled, weak, unable to work! Mocking the sick, what kind of doctor are you? You should be nice and caring, you know? I'm used to that kind of abuse from this silly-haired puddlejumper fetishist over there, guess he needs that to hide his own insecurities or something, but from you? You are supposed to at least pretend that you care. But when everything's so funny obviously, I can also go back to work."

He wanted to get up from the bed, but Carson's gloved hands on his shoulder stopped him. The doctor didn't laugh anymore, and his voice was very determined and a little cold when he said:  
"I'm sorry about the joke, son, honestly. Wasn't the right time or place for that. But stop insulting my job and my sense of duty. Sometimes I don't know why, but contrary to your belief I do care about you and your health. Which brings me to your current situation: Just like our version of it, this disease is far more dangerous to adults than to small children. That's why you will stay where you are right now, Rodney, and that's this hospital bed and maybe the bed in your quarters in a few days, if the fever doesn't rise. And you will rest as long as you have to, even if it means that you won't be on duty for two or even three weeks. Are we clear?"

Staring into Carson's blue eyes, Rodney had the grace to look a little bit embarrassed. A few seconds passed without a word, then he said whiningly: "Three weeks now?"

"Just maybe," said Carson, and had to smile a bit. "I understand that you don't like that. Try to take it as a necessary precaution." He waved over a nurse and ordered a set of scrubs.

"Two weeks. Maybe three...," Rodney muttered under his breath, absently scratching at his neck.  
Carson batted his hand away eventually. "Don't."

But Rodney was still concerned with other things. "So I'm stuck in this tongue depressor infested hell hole?"

"Aye, you are, and that's final."

"I hate being stuck in the infirmary!"

"No, you love being stuck in the infirmary!" John corrected.

"Not when I'm sick!" Rodney said and sighed. "Did I already mention how wonderful this is?"

"Not in the last thirty seconds. And believe me, it's a greater torture for me than for you. I'm not the devil in this hell. Tell me, will you try to be a good patient and behave?" Carson asked.

Rodney sighed emphatically, and scratched at his knee through the fabric of his trousers. "I'll try my very best."

"Alright, then my prescription is bed rest, lots of fluids, and some Tylenol and Benadryl, maybe some Acyclovir. Oh, and stop scratching already! It'll only leave scars and it heightens the risk of infections."

"Wonderful, why don't you just shoot me right here and now?"

"Careful, I'm tempted!"

"Really, Rodney, you should know that you mustn't scratch. Didn't you have chicken pox as a child?" John asked with a nearly angelic smile on his face.

"How should I know that now when I was a kid then?" Rodney exploded. "And really, it itches like hell!"

"I'll have the nurse also give you some zinc oxide ointment to help with that. In combination with the antihistamine it should reduce the itching a lot," said Carson.

Rodney looked as if someone had ordered him to swallow a bee.

"Wonderful."

"Oh will you say something else already? And what's the problem? That the red spots will be white spots due to the calamine lotion?"

"No! That antihistamines make me sleepy!"

"Thank God I'd say!" Carson exclaimed.

"Hate that."

"Well, at least it helps with the itching."

"I just found another itch - an itch to kill!" Rodney spat furiously, but then he suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. He paled and swayed a little.

Carson stepped closer quickly, sighing when he carefully took Rodney's wrist, checking his pulse. "Dizzy? Headache?" he asked. Rodney just made a short whiny sound.

"I take it that means both?"

"Yes," Rodney mumbled barely audible.

"You daft bugger, you're ill, so stop overexerting yourself." Despite his harsh words Carson let go of Rodney's wrist very gently. "You're running a temperature, you need to rest." Carson raised the head of the bed. "Lay back," he said then, and helped by lifting Rodney's legs on the bed while Rodney sank into the pillow.

When he was settled, Rodney opened his eyes, and obviously his world didn't spin anymore, as he muttered gloomily: "Not my day."

"Not your week...-s!" corrected John, who was still standing nearby. He had looked concerned for a moment, but now the teasing smile was back on his face.

"Stop it, Colonel," said Carson.

Rodney just threw John a mad look and scratched at his chest.

"Stop scratching, Rodney, or I'll put your hands in mittens or, even better, bind them to the railings!" Carson warned, looking slightly peeved.

"Wow, bondage!" came Sheppard's immediate comment.

"Very funny, Colonel. You really sure they don't need you somewhere to shoot at something or such? Or why don't you take a puddlejumper to the mainland? I heard it's nice there at this time of the year. Sun, waves, pox!" Rodney said with a saccharine voice.

"Now I'm insulted, McKay. I find you in the lab, feverish, tired and with polka dots all over your face. I'm concerned and take you to the infirmary, and that's the thanks I get?"

"You, Sheppard, have no idea what concern is, it's a foreign word to you."

"So no thanks?" was the only reaction from the Colonel.

"Come a little closer and you'll get some nice, itchy bumps as thanks!" Rodney retorted.

John paled visibly when realisation hit him. Carson grinned.

"Aye, Colonel, of course it's contagious, or how do you think Rodney caught it?"

John automatically took a few steps back from the bed and started to rub his arm subconsciously. "Somehow I didn't think about _that_," he said.

"Really, Colonel, you should know that. Didn't you have chicken pox when you were a child?" Rodney sing-sang from his place on the bed.

John grimaced. "At least I know that I _had_ them!"

Carson looked at Rodney. "Well, in fact that's another important reason why I want you confined to the infirmary and to your quarters, Rodney, so that you don't spread it around."

"Oh my, this is worse than leprosy," Rodney said rather disgruntledly.

"With a little bad luck it's already too late and we'll have a few more cases soon anyway. Possibly including you, Colonel."

Now it was Rodney's turn to grin, and he did so, his smug expression was only diminished a little by the red spots he had all over his face.

"If you passed this on to me, McKay, then..."

"_You_ helped _me_, Colonel, it's not that I came to you for help. So if you really get it I'd rather say you would have caught it from me!" Rodney stated.

"Does it matter? If I caught this from you, then..."

"Then what?" Rodney interrupted again. "You'll force me to go on a reconnaissance mission on a Hive ship? Run through a forest while angry natives are shooting at me? Explore possibly dangerous parts of this city? Been there, done that."

"The ice is thin, McKay!" Sheppard growled.

"What about trying to save our collective behinds from certain death in a time-frame of forty seconds? I'm very good at that."

"Getting thinner."

"I'm so scared!" mocked Rodney. "At least I'm safe from your wrath and your fighting training and shooting lessons while I'm here." He crossed his arms and threw John a challenging look.

"Well, you won't be sick forever!" John stated, crossing his arms too.

"That's enough! You're behaving worse than children, and in your case, Rodney, even worse than children with chicken pox!" Carson interfered. He had watched the exchange as if it had been a tennis match.

"Ah, we're just kidding," John said. "In fact he likes me."

"I'm not. And I don't," Rodney stated dryly.

"So you're just annoying?"

"Quiet! shouted Carson, and both men actually stopped talking. "Good."

Carson pointed at McKay. "Now you – scrubs. Then a short exam of your lungs to rule out the start of any complications, and afterwards a nurse will take some blood as you've just volunteered to participate in our vaccination research project. After that it'll be time for a nice nap, no protest! I can see that you're exhausted and you need rest! And be happy if I tell my nurses to stick to tympanic thermometers when it's time to take your temperature! And you," he turned and pointed at Sheppard, "one more word from you, and you'll learn that 'esophagogastroduodenoscopy' doesn't only sound weird!"

John suddenly looked rather horrified.

"By the way," Carson continued, "chances are good you won't fall ill at all, we think that those people who went through Earth's chicken pox might be immune to the Athosian pox. We'll see. If the theory is right, then it's at least sure that Rodney didn't have chicken pox as a child."

John looked relieved, Rodney just looked grumpy.

"Now off with you, Colonel, and only report back if you don't feel alright!" Carson made shooing motions with his hand.

Sheppard grinned. "Yes, sir!"

Carson just threw him one of his famous 'don't mess with me, lad' looks.

The nurse came back and Carson helped her to pull a few privacy screens around McKay's bed. Then the nurse put a set of white scrubs on the bed. Rodney looked at them with so much disdain as if they were prison clothes.

"Get changed, Rodney, I'll be back in a few minutes," Carson said and left.

John watched him walking away and then looked at McKay, who sat on the bed, completely motionless. He looked rather miserable and subdued. John frowned.

"What's up, McKay?"

Rodney looked up. "You still here, Colonel?" It lacked the snappishness from earlier.

"As good as gone," said John. "Just wanted to say something appropriate, like, ehh, 'get well soon'."

Rodney sighed quietly. He looked a little like a child who was sad that the playdate was over. "Thanks," he said, his voice a little low.

John threw him a questioning look. Rodney's sudden stillness and despondency was a rare and rather pitiable sight. "Enjoy the time off, McKay, as Carson said, rest might do you good."

It was obviously the wrong thing to say, because Rodney grimaced. It took a moment, and then Rodney said quietly: "If the silence wasn't so annoyingly obtrusive..."

Before John could reply, Rodney reached out and grabbed at the scrub shirt.

"Guess you should leave then," he said to John.

And John nodded. "See you soon. You know, I could tell Ronon and Teyla that you're... indisposed for a while because of a rather serious case of... the flu?"

Rodney looked at him with a thankful expression. "That would be... appreciated."

John smiled. "Get better then."

He turned around and walked to the door. But after a few steps he stopped and turned his head. McKay looked lost, sitting there on that bed, surrounded by other, empty beds. He was playing with the seam of the white shirt. John opened his mouth to say something, and then he closed it again. He looked kind of lost himself. A few seconds passed. And then a whimsical smile crept on his face, and he shouted: "Hey, McKay?"

"Yes, what?" Rodney asked, looking up.

"You know this song, 'Ten sick scientists'?"

Rodney growled. "I hate you, Sheppard!"

"Yeah, know you do, 'cause that's why you like me so much!" the Colonel said, grinning. "Now, I could sing it over the city's speakers, what do you think?"

"Leave! Now! I'd like to dwell in my misery alone!"

But the Colonel wouldn't be stopped so easily: "_One sick scientist is sitting on his bed, one sick scientist is sitting on his bed. And if this scientist accidentally spreads his germs, then there'll be two sick scientists sitting on a bed._"

"Or a certain very badly injured Colonel!" Rodney spat.

Sheppard just kept on singing while he walked to the door. His eyes were sparkling.

"This scientist is kicking some Colonel's sorry behind soon!" yelled Rodney when the door slid shut behind Sheppard, who continued to sing, obviously not caring that someone could see or hear the city's military leader singing a very silly song while walking through public corridors.

Furiously Rodney stared at the door while the singing slowly faded in the distance until nothing could be heard anymore.

Quietness.

Rodney sighed again. He started to pull his shirt over his head, when the radio he still wore flared to life.

John. "Secure channel. I could just go on, you know?"

"No!" shouted Rodney.

"You know, this is quite a catchy tune. Gets stuck in the head very easily..."

"Everything but that! Give it a rest already!" Rodney yelled and switched the radio off. He quickly pulled it out of his ear and put it on the nightstand.

Silence again. And this time Rodney's sigh sounded rather content and thankful. He lay back on the soft pillow and scratched at his thigh. And then he smiled.

The end

A/N the second: The song that John's singing is his very own interpretation of "Ten green bottles".


End file.
